


30 Hours

by cheesesp



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gangster Martinelli, Gangsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesesp/pseuds/cheesesp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter has a career working in the shadows, it just so happens a shooting in the L&L Automat reveals Angie Martinelli to have similar job requirements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Angie Martinelli was the product of her mother’s direct line to God. Her mother, Rosa had asked her young husband to be wounded in the Great War. Her prayers were answered and it came in the form of shrapnel to the right leg and torso. Frank returned with a limp that, as Rosa had anticipated, had taken him off the front line, but not directly out of danger. Baby Angie arrived in 1921 living proof of her father’s recovery and her mother’s faith. Yet, no matter many times her mother would say she was a miracle, she couldn’t help but feel God had played a cruel trick on her. Nothing could compete with being a boy in her family. Tommy followed 5 years after Angie and from then on, she knew it could only get sour.

It got sour alright. Miracle Angie was just plain old Angie by the time she hit 25. It was a joke to her family that if they sent her to work, their rotund daughter would return to their family home slim and pretty. Bent over scrubbing vinyl stools in the L&L Automat, she prayed that yet again, Rosa’s wish hadn’t come true.

A gruff bark sounded from one of the tables. “I just wish the food was as good as my view.”

Angie froze, her right arm ached from the scrubbing, the left was ready to clap him round the head.

The radio was promptly turned up a few notches and clanging from the kitchen insured Cookie had heard him. Angie straightened and wrung the soiled cloth into the bucket at her feet, slowly, watching from the corner of her eye into the dinning area.

“Doll?” the voice called out again, this time with a fist to the table. Angie sucked in a breath and plastered a smile on her pink lips before whipping around and seeing to him.

“What can I get for you?” the forced cheery tone was a few octaves higher than her normal voice, to anyone who knew her, it’d sound like she was being pinched in the arm.

“A coffee and another burger, the buns are real good.” his greasy face wrinkled into a sly smirk and Angie’s skin crawled.

“Comin’ right up” she didn’t even bother writing down the order, she just marched back, past the counter and into the kitchen.

 

In the safety of Cookie’s domain, she let out a irritated groan. It bounced off the metal counters and was drowned out by the radio before it could be heard elsewhere.

“Cookie, I need a burger with some of that relish, you know, your special.”

The cook turned, his freckled face lit up to replace his usual face of thunder.

“For the jerk at table three?”

“That’s the one.” Angie swatted him playfully with her notepad and flashed him a smile of encouragement.The sound of Cookie snorting up spit was close to music in her ears as the kitchen door wafted shut. She stood at the counter, resuming her role as a bored waitress, waiting for more costumers. This was surely only a pit stop in a life she hoped would last as long as her Grans. This couldn’t be what she told the grandkids at Christmas or what she looked back on when she kicked the bucket.

Cookie signalled the order was up with a sharp knock to the bell. Angie retrieved the burger, exchanging a knowing look with her ginger colleague as the plate was passed through the window. She set the plate down carefully in front of the jerk and flashed him a smile, this time it was genuine, the kind that scrunched up her nose and pulled at the sides of her eyes.

She left and busied herself with his coffee when the door of the Automat revolved, churning air through it before producing the next patron.

 

Angie didn’t turn straight away, she would catch up with them in a moment. The coffee brewed and she determined that the steam was more interesting than another grey suit and hat.

“Excuse me. You don’t serve tea by chance?”

Angie’s attention snapped to the accent. Prim and proper were two words that ran around in her head, then a name. Peggy. She turned to meet fierce brown eyes, they probed at her and then softened.

“What’re you playin’ at English?” Angie smirked, in all her years she hadn’t met a signal person to ever make her heart leap into her throat. Yet, sat at the counter, sat at her counter, was the culprit. Pliantly slender, with strong shoulders and sculpted features, Angie had never seen such a person. The woman was wrapped in an authoritative elegance. She shot her a brief half smile, her lips rouged.

“I was wondering if you’d actually know it was me.”

“Course, who else would ask for tea in this side a town?”

Angie soon felt light headed, but pressed on, donning one of the faces from her rehearsals.

“One cup comin’ up.” she waggled her pen at Peggy and shot off to make it.

It wasn’t long before the jerk at table three was shouting about his coffee being late. Angie tried to hide her expression, but Peggy caught it, just as she was served the tea.

“A regular?” she mused and shot a side glance to him.

“If you ain’t seen him, I ain’t seen him.” she sighed and glanced at the coffee pot, the curls of steam got thicker. “Just before, he decided to yap on about my ass.”

Peggy tensed, the cup paused just before her lips and her brow knotted.

Angie shrugged and swiftly poured a mug, hoping that she’d trip on the way and let it spill on his crotch.

Angie slipped the mug onto the table, not making eye contact with him at first, not until a fat finger prodded at the coffee. It lingered there for a moment and was then tucked back into a closed fist.

Chairs screeched back and the door rotated fast in a muffed whir.

Angie would have noticed sooner, if the jerk wasn’t glaring at her with such intent, she wondered if he’d sussed what was on his burger.

The stench of a limp cigarette in the ashtray hung between them.

Peggy watched the Automat empty from the reflection in a napkin dispenser. She set her tea down softly and reached into her purse, her hand wrapped around her gun.

“Angie.” Peggy called back, in a steady voice, it was void of the panic that crept up her spine. She faced straight ahead and continued to watch. Angie turned her head back to respond to Peggy, when a man rose from one of the booths and walked towards them. She turned back to the jerk, he shuffled in his chair, clearly as panicked as she was. His piggy eyes watered and he reddened.

“You okay Mr?” Angie reached a hand out but Peggy stopped her with a sharp cough. Angie took the warning, tucked her hands into her apron pockets and walked back to the counter, her legs wobbling slightly. Peggy acknowledged her with a subtle nod and pressed a slender index finger to her lips. Angie’s heart began pound in her chest and gushed in her ears. She could only try to look busy with her notebook. The man who had come from the booth was now at table three, leering over the man. He tipped his hat to the jerk. Angie upon glancing up from her notepad, got a good look at his face.

It was all angles. His eyes were tucked into a thick browed frown, his jaw was bony and square. His chin jutted out in the same shape and his lips were pressed into a hard line. He reminded her of all those illustrations of Satan in Sunday school. Except she knew this guy and not just from those pages.

“You hadda pick somewhere public didn’t you?” he muttered, his accent was straight out of Red Hook. Without blinking, he produced a slender handgun from the inside of his coat. Peggy jerked her body out of the seat, her own gun drawn and aimed at the man, protecting the waitress.

He didn’t pay her any attention and with a soft click, he shot the jerk point blank in the head. Before the pig had even registered what was happening. In a spray of fragmented skull and blood, the man fell straight into the table, his nose cracking into the plate. Angie was rattled, her hands at her mouth, but her feet glued to the spot. Peggy didn’t flinch.

“Angie, get down.” she snapped and he turned to her, the both of them had their guns still drawn. Angie did no such thing, she concentrated on the other guys face, his eyes flicked to hers, they were shaky.

Peggy expected him to shoot, she was sure this man couldn’t have any witnesses. Instead he tucked the weapon back into his coat and regarded her with little interest.

“Ladies.” his eyes were still on Angie, burning into her, he tipped his hat and left. Both women stood baffled.

Peggy felt the weight of her gun tenfold, it almost crippled her wrist. The company she was in let out a loud “what the hell?”.

Peggy tucked the gun into the crook of her back cooly and closed her eyes, waiting for Angie’s onslaught.

The waitress slumped onto one of the stools at the counter, it creaked and twisted slightly with the sudden application of weight.

“This is heavy…l-lock the doors.” she snapped at Peggy and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed.

Peggy didn’t question it, but she was unsettled with Angie’s behaviour.

She set to work pulling the mesh gate across the door and wrenching the blinds down, plunging the diner into a dusty gloom.

The radio crackled out a news broadcast, but that was a ghost to both women.

Peggy stood, hands on her hips with her elbows jutting out and her hair curling at her shoulders wildly, her stance similar to that of a scolded child.

“Angie.” she puffed and stared at the younger woman.

Angie’s hands mashed her apron and she began to shake.

“There’s a man dead in my diner,” she choked out a laugh, it was a sad, stressed sound. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

“We can’t have two corpses in here,” Peggy’s heels clicked as she moved to stand in front of her. “Whoever he is…I need to make sure he’s gone”

Angie remained silent.

Peggy’s eyes held hers, they darkened, her face became solid. Angie felt a wave of fear, it snagged at her and she let out a hiccup.

“And I have to make sure you don’t remember this”

 

-

 

The bell of the telephone rang, muffled in the darkness. Three rings passed before a door opened and it was answered. Angie stirred. Bed springs creaked and her fingers fumbled across the bedsheets. Something hard thudded on the carpeted floor.

Outside, Ms Fry’s voice was thick with sleep but still sharp in her conversation. A hard click sounded and Ms Fry’s footsteps faded away. A cold, steamy air blew in through the open window, bringing with it the buzz of New York. Angie’s mouth was dry and her eyes searched through the numbness of her apartment. It was late.

Angie propped herself up on her elbows. She tried to piece together how she’d managed to fall asleep in her uniform. Fingers roamed across the wood of her side table and with a click, light flooded the room. The light showed each feature of her room, each well known piece of furniture.

A gritty voice sounded from her left. “Hey sis.”

Angie jumped and shuffled back to her headboard.

Lounging in her arm chair, her brother shot her a bruised smile. Tommy’s thin fingers made a cigarette with deliberate care. Shifting a measured quantity of tobacco to equal ends of the paper, he rolled the paper’s inner edge down and up under the outer edge. Forefingers pressed it over, thumbs and fingers sliding until it formed a cylinder. He took a match to the open end and lit it.

“Ma’ doesn’t like it when you smoke.” Angie croaked, sleep still heavy in her eyes.

“Ma’ ain't here.” he puffed out smoke as he spoke.

“Ms Fry can smell smoke.” she climbed out of bed and wafted the fresh plume in the direction of the window.

“The windows open.” he took it from his mouth and he examined it with his stern eyes.

“What are you doing here Tommy?” she crossed her arms over her chest, wobbly on her feet. Her head felt thick, as if she hadn’t be awake for years, let alone hours. Tommy scratched the back of his neck and smoked more before uttering a word.

Angie acknowledged the state he was in.

His face was reddened with scratches and blossoming in bruises, his usual trim suit was scuffed up, his knuckles blotchy and purple. Seeing the features they shared so beaten set Angie on edge. His nose was speckled with dried blood and his left eye was partly closed. By now, she knew not to ask. So, went for the liquor on her vanity, she snagged two glasses from the top draw and fixed them a drink.

“Pa’s mad,” he muttered. “He’s goin’ on again.”

Angie handed him the drink and he knocked it back.

“And what do you want me to do?”

“You know where you stand right?”

“I don’t want any part of it.” Angie sipped at the golden liquid. “I said that, Ma’ doesn’t want me in it. You neither.”

“We have no choice, even Ma’ knows that. You’re his girl Angie,” he dumped his ashes on the carpet. “You can’t say no.”

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” she spat and drained the last of the drink, a scowl played on her face. A silence passed between them. Tommy finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe, his eyebrows lifted to show attentiveness towards his sister.

“That’s because that word don’t exist…What’ve you been doin’ today sis?” Tommy extended his arm in signal for refill. “You never fall asleep in those rags.”

Angie poured more liquor into the glass with a sharp clink and glug. Her mind remained foggy, nothing surfaced apart from the assumption it must have just been a mundane day.

“Just tired. Besides, these rags get me money.”

“Sure… you wouldn’t have to work there if you just let Pa-”

“No, I don’t want that money,” she sat down on the bed. “Does Pa’ wanna see me?”

“You bet.”

“When?”

“Whenever you call.”

“I don’t call.”

“…You do now” Tommy rose to his feet, the smooth thickness of his arms and stock of his body cast a shadow over Angie. The round slope of his shoulders made him look like his father, Frank. Both men were stocky in stance, but Tommy had an odd leanness about him.“Don’t forget to call. Ring, ring lil miracle.” he joked, but his eyes were too hazed with concern to pass it off. Planting two sharp kisses on her cheeks and then forehead, Angie felt an ache in her chest. An ache that she hadn’t felt in years.

“Go out the window” Angie motioned to it. He nodded and pinching another cigarette between his lips.

“I’m guessing I have 30 hours to live again, huh sis.”

Angie’s chest tightened, her breath came out shaky, despite the lightness of his words, it still felt like a punch in the gut.

Tommy stepped over the windowsill and slipped out into the night.

-

Half an hour after Tommy left, Angie sat frowning into her empty glass. Then she spoke to the room, in the tone of dismissal.

“Pa’ is just letting off steam. He won’t do anything.” she took the bottle, filled the glass two-thirds and drained it promptly. Peggy came to mind as the alcohol burned down her throat. Buzzing slightly, she rose to her feet and grabbed the bottle, a visit was in order.


	2. Chapter 2

Peggy, in her favoured black and red satin gown, opened the door to her apartment. Her face was flushed. Her hair was swept back and somewhat tousled. The uncharacteristic eagerness in which she greeted Angie, told her that she’d been expecting her.

“Evening English.” she said.

Angie’s bright smile brought a fainter smile to Peggy’s face. Yet, she noticed Angie’s eyes, donned a worried look.

“Angie…what are you doing here at this hour?” Peggy stood aside to let her in. The room was in order for once, there were flowers in a vase on the dresser and the scent of clean laundry came as a surprise to Angie. She rattled the bottle in her hand, the remaining liquor swilling, it was as good enough as a response.

“Angie, it’s honestly too late to drink…and I’m fairly sure it’s a policy not to.”

Angie simply flashed her a smile, one of those broad grins that insured Peggy’s opinion would waver. However, in her attempt, her anxiety shone through. Peggy didn’t mention it, but padded into the kitchen to retrieve two glasses and snatched the bottle on the way past.

“I have more under my bed.” the Brit admitted when she came back into the room, two full glasses in hand. Angie sighed and graceless, much like a child, she flopped over the back of the arm chair, then clambered over the top to heavily slide into the seat.

“You’re a dark horse English…Trouble sleepin’?” she spoke through a clumsy smile after Peggy handed her a glass.

Peggy remained quiet and leant against her dresser. Drink in hand, looked at her with eyes that studied, weighed, judged without the pretense that they were doing so.

“The bottle is empty, you brought a short party,” Peggy said. “And I was just reading”

Angie tried to pace herself, but her hand tipped too far and she ended up taking a handsome gulp.

“You said you’ve got more.” she spoke through clenched facial features, when the burning stopped, her face smoothed. Peggy drank slowly, she was cautious.

“What’s troubling you?” she licked her lips. “Work?”

The word made the two women make sudden eye contact.

Angie wafted her hand in front of her, her limbs began to feel heavy and she fidgeted, making the chair creak.

“Must be English, must be.”

“How was today?” Peggy drank more, the question was void of any real concern, but was anchored by a knowing tone. Angie was silent for a beat before speaking up again, slightly louder.

“Can’t remember a damn thing” she gushed. “You ain’t usually the talkative type…”

Peggy folded her arms and waited for Angie to continue, but she didn’t. She simply sat and rotated her wrist, in turn making the liquid in the glass slosh. Angie peered over to Peggy, the buzz in her bones promised her that she wouldn’t get caught staring. So she kept swilling the glass and let her eyes prod and poke at Peggy’s wrapped figure.

“You must remember something?”

Peggy kept a light conversational tone and walked over to her bedside table to  change the position of her clock. The intention of the action was empty. Peggy’s eyes fixed on it, as if it interested her. Her real interest was sat across the room, with ardent eyes in her back. Angie shook her head, she lifted her hands and slapped them back down in an act of defeat.

“Like I care. I don’t want to bother, tell me about your day. Since mines away with the fairies- just like my Uncle Viv… one time he-”

“I would get checked” Peggy cut in with a small smile. Angie fathomed Peggy’s selective hearing was in full swing tonight. She turned and made her way back to Angie, her glass abandoned on the side table, she perched on the arm of the chair. Angie peered at her, her head tilted upwards. “You don’t look particularly different.”

“Gee, thanks English.” she scoffed and withdrew her gaze.

“I meant-I mean in a good way.” Peggy, for once, stumbled on her words. Angie nudged her in the ribs, laughing lightly in her throat. Upon turning back, her breath hitched, Peggy had moved close towards her. Their faces were inches apart.

“I mean in the most practical of sense,” she uttered, her eyes heavy lidded. “You don’t seem to have any form of concussion.”

Angie’s hand tightened around her glass, her palms grew clammy. She knew her mother would curse to the high heavens if she knew what breed of thoughts were in her head.

“Do some more readin’,” she nudged Peggy again. “I’ll be right here.”

Peggy pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed, as if she was going to argue. Instead, she rose from her perch and she walked over to retrieve her glass and with it, a stack of papers.

 

The room had fallen into a gentle hush. Peggy sat crossed legged on her bed, engrossed in reports. She flicked another page over with a moist index, her eyes were covered by her reading glasses. The woman had adapted to long nights and it showed, she got productive past ten p.m. Angie set her glass down with intentional force to gain the Brit’s attention. She was suffering from the same particular ache in her chest that Tommy had induced. She’d come over for a distraction and so far, being wrapped up in her thoughts wasn’t the answer. The sound didn’t stir Peggy. Pondering, with her bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Angie worried it until another idea sparked. A sly smirk played upon her lips moments later. The waitress shifted heavily to reach over to the radio, however she was slow, adamant she wouldn’t catch Peggy’s eye. Her heartbeat sped up, knowing that if she was caught midway, the fun would be sucked out of the room instantly. As much as she regarded Peggy with fondness, good ol English had knack of not switching off from her day job. What that was exactly, Angie wasn’t sure. Her fingers were splayed so she could reach the switch. The chair creaked violently as she pushed her self outwards. Even at the dramatic display of stretched limbs and disheveled clothes, still Peggy didn’t stir. With a small thunk, the radio burst to life. Angie shot back, toppling off the chair. Peggy shot up, her back ramrod straight, her papers flew off her lap and onto the floor. Flushed, with a hand over her chest, Peggy’s eyes darted to Angie. The waitress lay on the floor cackling. Her glass had toppled over, it rolled slightly and then settled, empty.

“Turn that off!” Peggy hissed and lunged for the radio, fumbling for a moment, then once again, it was silent. Both listened for Ms Fry, but when no footsteps hammered down the hall, they knew the woman must be fast asleep. Angie had a slight ringing sensation in her ears, but that didn’t hinder her laughter. Peggy snorted, poorly concealing her own amusement, she resorted to bunching a fist at her lips to stop herself.

Angie sat up, chuckling lowly. “Your face was a picture English.”

Peggy shook her head and let out a more audible laugh, her eyes wrinkled at the sides.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Angie was quick to sober, something nagged her about the woman, despite Peggy’s cheer, it was as if something hung between them. That something was darker, much darker than dirty washing or maybe an elephant. Angie didn’t let it surface, she preferred being ignorant for the time being.

“Just wanted to bring some life to this so called party.” she pulled herself to her feet and wrapped an arm around Peggy’s shoulder, standing beside her, looking ahead. “Some dusty old papers isn’t how you glam it up at the Ritz.”

Peggy’s voice was raspy with remaining laughter. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t the Ritz.”

“With your accent and my feather feet, we could transform this place.”

“Feather feet?”

Angie gasped, rounding on her and acting up offence.

“Are you sayin’ I can’t dance?”

“Angie, I’m not disputing that you can dance however I don’t think anyone has called you feather feet.”

“It’ll catch on.” she wrapped her other arm absently around the back of Peggy’s neck and faced her. Wrapped in Angie’s arms, the Brit was taken back, but complied and held Angie’s hips.

“Like the plague.” Peggy sniggered and earned a harsh glare.

“I’m an actress, not a dancer you loon.” Angie huffed, but smiled. It was a rare occurrence to make Peggy laugh, so she took that chance and revelled in it. They soon drew close again, both calming.

Angie gulped, her mouth had ran dry, her tongue felt thick. “Look at me, in my uniform, this late” she muttered, glancing down at herself. She was convinced the liquor was hitting her hard and fast. It seemed unlikely that Peggy was comfortable with being in such close proximity to her.

“Must have been one hell of a day.” Peggy smirked, her eyes darted to the woman’s lips. They lingered there, both of them, too close to be considered just friendly. Peggy’s hand rubbed Angie’s hip, soft at first, but the touch got firmer, it got heavy. Peggy's throat clicked as she gulped and her hand retreated.

As soon as she had been there, she was gone. Peggy was fast to sit on the bed, across the room. Hands in her lap and eyes on the ground, uninterested. Angie puffed out a breath.

“I better get going,” her right foot kicked the glass that had be deposited on the floor, she stumbled awkwardly but recovered with a sorry glance. “I’ve got another big day.” she motioned to the door with a limp wrist. A brush off from Peggy was always more like a shove and the shove got harder each time it happened.

“Goodnight Angela.” Peggy spoke sharply and Angie took that as a definite goodbye.

“Goodnight Margaret.” she uttered and closed the door firmly behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

If Angie Martinelli considered her lot in life to be sour, it went to show she had never sat down and had a real conversation with Peggy Carter. Peggy’s life had turned upside down before it had begun. Her father, Harrison Carter had convinced his wife and young daughter to join him in Egypt after the Great War ended. Eighteen months into their stay, Amanda Carter contracted typhoid fever in Cairo and died. Mad with grief, her father vanished and Peggy returned to England parentless. In the care of her uncle and grandmother, the young girl transformed into a sturdy, impenetrable woman. Who retained a distaste towards hot climates and harboured a particular soft spot for a brunette waitress.

 

That brunette was on Peggy’s mind as she paid her fare and left the taxicab. New York’s morning fog blurred the street around her, it was almost clammy with fumes and the bustle of ten thirty. A few yards from where she had dismissed the cab, a clot of men stood, looking into an alley. Peggy strode over, her heels snapped on the ground. Donned in a long navy coat, so the damp chill didn’t creep onto her skin. She crossed over to the opposite sidewalk, passing iron-railings to the subway and beelined into to the alley. A uniformed policeman stood at the threshold, arms folded and his eyes pointed out onto the street. Upon her approach, his back straightened and his eyes lost the glaze of sleep. Peggy pulled out her badge.

“Agent Carter.” she spoke and his eyes screwed up to examine it, he nodded once and left her pass.

“They’re back there,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bad business… too bad for a lady, I’d say.”

“I can handle it Officer.” she plastered a well trained, polite smile onto her rouged lips and went up the alley. Half way up, not far from where she had come in, an ambulance stood. Peggy passed it, turning her body sharply to the slide to avoid trapping herself. The end of the alley was bound by a head height fence, horizontal strips of rough boarding blocked out the remaining daylight. At the bottom of the fence, slumped against it, lay the victim. Two men stood over him, smoking, Peggy could only make out the tinder of their voices. Another officer to the left side of Peggy, alerted them to her presence.

“Carter,” Sousa hailed her warmly. The other man, hidden under a thick brimmed hat, snorted. “I didn’t think you’d show.” he hobbled to her, his crutch stamping on the ground before he followed.

“Since when do we rub shoulders with the N.Y.P.D?” she said.

“This guy is a person of interest,” he jutted his free hand towards the victim. “Michael 'Micky' Moretti. A thug for the Bianchi family. The guys in the police dept had been after him for dope.”

Peggy flexed her hands and peered at Moretti’s face. It was a pleasant feeling to put a name to a face, since she had lugged the bastard into Jarvis’s car the day before. He’d bled in the trunk for a few blocks.

“I’m assuming it was an unlawful kill?” she said with cool.

“Yep. I’m thinking the same” Sousa shifted to let other men pass, they soon blocked the pair’s view of the body.

“So it’s making the other family’s nervous?”

Sousa answered with a nod, shy due to the gathering around them. The men in front spoke loudly, slapping each other on the back. Peggy rolled her eyes.

“Gentlemen,” she snapped. “This isn’t the locker room.”

The men hushed. A barrel bellied detective barked a laugh at her and continued his conversation with the other officers.

“Do we have any witnesses?” she moved away from them, Sousa followed.

“Nope, non that want to say anyway.”

“Somebody must have heard a shot?”

“Carter, we only just got here. Somebody musta, but we’re gonna have to find them.”

Peggy was soon struck with claustrophobia due of the amount of bodies clotted in the alley.

“Leave that to me.”

“If Chief lets you.”

Peggy quirked an eyebrow and grabbed his forearm lightly for a moment. Sousa puffed his chest out and nodded to her. With a smirk, she dropped her arm and retreated out of the alley. This case wasn’t about permission, the body count proved it.

 

The telephone was ringing when Peggy returned to her desk, just before the last bell, she answered it sharply. She kept her voice low and but her posture casual, as if it was a call from her mother.

“Hello? Yes, this is Car-hello… I’ve been waiting to hear from you… An hour…Okay. I’ll expect you there” she set the phone back into it’s cradle and snatched up her coat and made her way out of the building.

 

Peggy found herself in the Automat once again, cradling a cup of coffee, she had barley drank any. The beverage was a distraction, she was waiting for Jarvis. The heat that radiated outwards from the porcelain barley burnt her. Little irritable lines had appeared on her forehead. The woman’s face contorted in such a way, Angie was convinced she was going to burst. The two women had barley made pleasantries. Both had missed breakfast and unintentionally avoided each other that morning. Angie shot a glance at Peggy, her thunderous expression advanced. After taking the usual order of soda and fries from table two, Angie peered over to Peggy, she hadn’t drank the coffee. She scribbled an illegible line then added a cheery.

“I’ll be right back.”

Angie made her way over to the bar, her legs felt unsteady as she passed Peggy. Stood facing her, Angie leant against the back counter, narrowing her eyes.

“Did I make it bad?” she flapped her notepad in her direction, with a slap. The words came out with a slight harshness. If it was anyone else, Angie would have wished they’d choke on it, but Peggy was different. The frequent knot in Angie’s stomach said that she had to impress the woman. Everything had to be perfect, something Angie was nervous she couldn’t deliver. Especially after last night. Peggy raised her eyes, the look of annoyance fluttered away and she shook her head.

“No, not at all. It’s cooling down.” Peggy turned her head to the door.

“Waiting for someone?” Angie began to rip pages out of her notepad in an nonchalant fashion. “Ah…It’s Mr. Fancy, ain’t it?” Mr. Fancy was British, slender and met with Peggy frequently, that was just about all she knew of him. Angie fathomed if she ever found out his real name or what he actually meant to Peggy, she’d have less fun toying with the subject. “So how’s the day job? You gonna get off early?” she wiggled her eyebrows and smirked, pinning orders to the window into the kitchen.

Peggy whipped her head back and rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Angie, you know it’s not like that.”

“I’m not sayin’ anything English, you’re the one who took it that way.” she had her back to Peggy, but knew the look the woman was giving her. It was an annoyed but amused smile. The kind where Peggy would press her lips together tightly and fight the urge to smile. Angie was sure she was the only one to ever get that look.

“You-” Peggy started but was soon on her feet, collecting her coat and purse from the seat beside her. “My ride is here,” she glanced at the coffee. “Angie, could I possibly borrow this?”

Angie turned back around and pushed out her bottom lip, her brow furrowed, but she made a sound of agreement.

“Just bring it back before I close up.” Angie felt somewhat flattered that Peggy was stealing the coffee she had made.

“I promise.” Peggy flashed her a broad smile and left.

 

Jarvis picked Peggy up in the Dodge, he only asked about the coffee once, in good humour. Peggy fathomed the man had learnt not to ask, even about the simplest of things. They made their way to the Roxxon Oil company offices, where an informant of Peggy’s worked. Jasper Hetti was young, dark haired, tall and broad, he had a good-looking, unintelligent face. Over a cigarette and the bribe of a fresh pack, he sang. He had known Michael Moretti. The man worked directly for Hugh Jones in his personal office, an unpleasant surprise. Hetti also suggested that Hugh Jones had ties with the Bianchi family. When Peggy probed further, she found out that Moretti had been running his mouth of late. He had been talking about Jones and the Bianchi’s and the new business venture they were going into.

“He was kinda a slime anyway,” Jasper puffed. “He was blabbing about how he knew Mr. Jones and his ties. The guy used that to get good seats at the ball game last week. A few weeks before that, he was bragging about getting dope for his poker club.” he exclaimed, blandly triumphant.

“That’s a good enough motive to get killed. The N.Y.P.D wanted him for drugs,” Peggy muttered over her shoulder to Jarvis. “Was the hit an official one?”

“I’m not sure,” Jasper scrunched his face up, a cigarette pinched between his lips and it wobbled as he spoke. “They keep that stuff quiet. Though, if you’re here, I’m guessing it was a hit gone wrong.” he smiled at her.

Peggy shot a tight smile back.

“If you get wind of anything else Mr. Hetti, be sure to let me know.”

“Will do Chief.” he saluted her and promptly left.

Jarvis and Peggy exchanged a content look.

“Well, it seems like this case is an easy one,” he dusted his hands and skittered around Peggy to open doors for her as they walked back to the car.

“I want to know why Moretti was shot in daylight and why his killer didn’t dispose of Angie or I.”

“Does Miss Martinelli have any inclining of what happened?” Jarvis said.

“Not as far as I know. She appeared shaken last night, but she made it clear she didn’t remember anything,” Peggy worried her lip. “I feel awful for using one of Howard’s pills on her. Are you sure it has no lasting effects?”

Jarvis paused, he made a slight noise from his throat. The pair halted abruptly in front of the double doors in the lobby.

“Jarvis?” Peggy turned on him.

“It may wear off, but I don’t know in what manner.”

“In what… Are you suggesting she could be in danger? Can it hurt her?” Peggy prodded a slender finger into Jarvis’s chest, livid. “I knew I should have never even had it on me-”

“Miss Carter, I assure you she might only suffer from a bad headache or-”

“What?” Peggy’s voice was shrill. It attracted the displeased attention of the receptionist. The woman glared at them through horn rimmed glasses.

“We’ll talk in the car.” Peggy pushed the doors open and stormed out.

 

-

 

Angie had watched the sunset that evening while scrubbing down the tables like every other night. Cookie had left early with a stomach complaint. Angie recalled he had been green as the linoleum in the toilets. The Boss hadn’t showed again, so she was alone. With a fork and determination, Angie set to work on the sticky, pink blob on the underside of one of the booth tables. Each scrape of the fork against the gum just streaked it more, soap and water would have done better. Realising the error, she paused and glared at it, her face red with effort. Flat on her back, she became aware that anyone could walk in and spot her on the floor like a nut job. Angie shifted away from the table and stood up. She patted down her uniform and straightened her hair with an effortless comb of her hand. Angie jumped when something hit the floor with a soft slap. A newspaper shed it’s interior papers and scattered them over the tile. Angie let out a frustrated groan and went down on her knees to begin the tedious clean up. Picking up one of the last spreads, she came across the obituaries. Her eyes grazed the print lazily, that was until a name glared up at her as if it was flashing. Michael Moretti. Angie read it twice over. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it nor could she envision a face. Yet, it lay there, like salt on her tongue. There was a knock at the window. Angie lifted her gaze and focused it. Peggy. The woman was stood, somewhat awkwardly, holding the mug up. Her eyes were bright and her lips still rouged, despite the wear of the day. Angie would have laughed if it wasn’t for that name circling in her head, blocking something. Angie motioned her in but Peggy shook her head, beckoning Angie to her instead. Angie did as she wished.

 

The evening chill hit her arms first, then her legs. The city was quiet, cars passed but no pedestrians.

“Did ya enjoy it?” Angie received the mug with both hands.

“Quite.” Peggy said and looked back into the Automat, her eyes did a thorough search before landing back on the waitress. “You’re closing early?”

“Cookie left and well, my Boss was a no show like usual. I remember a time when that guy used to be on my case day and night and now, no sign of the fella,” she sneered, shivering. “It seems my charm can do that to a guy”

“What? Make him skip town?” Peggy laughed under her breath with playful insolence.

“Oh please,” Angie swatted her arm. “I was going for he’s so sweet on me he can’t handle himself. It must be the uniform.” Angie quirked an eyebrow and swayed her hips. Peggy scoffed and looked away, with a smile on her lips.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is he’s never around and I’m left to clean and deal with petty thieves.” she motioned to the cup and then to Peggy.

“I gave it back!”

“That just makes you a bad thief.”

The pair exchanged glances between slight laughter.

Peggy pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and smiled coyly, her eyes flicked over Angie. They examined her with precision before trailing off. Angie felt her neck and face grow warm instantly, the blush worked it’s way to her ears.

"ShutupEnglish” she gushed, with a small snort, but was quick to sober. Peggy’s attitude towards her was entirely unpredictable, so it was best not to dwell on looks and over think. “I’ll put a pot of coffee on. So we have time to talk.”

Peggy raised her eyebrows, a colt of panic formed in her lower stomach. She cursed herself. She felt foolish for manipulating her friend and thinking it would have made things easier.

“About?”

“About anything, gee, I’m not going to bite you.” Angie said and shot her a brief smile before she went back into the diner.

Peggy was on her tail when footsteps sounded behind her. They scuffed and slapped the sidewalk with such a ruckus, it distracted her. Peggy turned on her heel to asses the noise. The light from the Automat illuminated the street and yet, the figure that approached was wrapped in a damp darkness. Peggy recognised the stranger. In the same coat and hat as the previous day, he halted in his tracks, his face obscured by the shadow cast by the hat brim. He tucked himself into the side alley and Peggy followed, as if they had rehearsed their movement.

 

Peggy slipped into the darkness. She kept to the wall and crouched behind the dumpster. If the man was a professional, he wouldn’t have returned. The fact made Peggy’s mind ease as she curled one hand into a fist. A footstep scuffled ahead, Peggy stiffened, then rose slowly. She ignored the pounding of her heart as the familiar spurt of adrenaline kicked her reflexes into gear. As the nearest footfall hit the ground Peggy struck. She dashed out from behind the dumpster and swung her curled fist into the man’s right cheek. She swung with her left into his side. The man staggered, but fought back with brash resilience. The man used his height to his advantage, he wrapped a strong arm around Peggy’s waist and pulled her to him, he lifted her from the floor. She struggled for a moment, her hands crushed between his fist. With a gruff sound, she lurched upwards. Peggy’s elbow struck the man beneath his right cheekbone as she leapt, the momentum staggered him. With free hands, she gathered the front his shirt and coat in her fist. The other punched him in the gut, but he had recovered from the blow before she could tackle him down. The handle of a pistol collided with her neck clumsily and then came back to slam into her jaw. Peggy still had hold of his shirt when she wobbled and snatched for the weapon. The pair struggled until Peggy summoned the sense to use her head, quite literally and slammed her head into his.

“Bloody hell.” she hissed. Her head burst into an ache but she remained, clinging to his clothes in a tight grip. When he fell she had him suspended. Her left shoulder was raised and her bent right arm driven up by the other shoulder's lift. The arm was one rigid piece, only her shoulder gave it momentum. Her fist struck the mans face, beating one side of his chin and most of his cheek. She repeated the action once more, grimacing as she felt the skin on her knuckles split.

“Who are you?” she spat, holding her fist above his face as a looming threat. He drooled blood, until a weary chuckle escaped his lips.

“Who are you?” his burst lip meant a torrent of blood ran down his chin. “You ain’t got no business with me, I’d know if you had.”

“Like you had business with Michael Morretti?” Peggy shook him.

He growled and swung his fist, Peggy dodged it.

“Why did you shoot him here?”

He didn’t answer and swung again, Peggy avoided it but didn’t expect his leg sweeping hers from underneath her. Peggy hit the ground hard, the man set his teeth together and dragged himself up. Peggy let out a frustrated sound from her throat and flinched away from the first swing of a boot to her ribs. It grazed her, but the second didn’t, neither did the third. Peggy wheezed and staggered to her feet, lurching forward to crack the underside of his chin. The pair were about to lock again when the sound of the Automat’s back door creaked open.

“Peg? Peggy?” Angie’s voice was thick with worry.

The pair scattered. The man hobbled out of the alley, out onto the street and took a sharp left. Peggy tucked herself in the shadows, just under the stairs of an overhead fire escape. She held her breath as much as her ribs ached and jolted with the pang of pain. The rectangle of light got wider and Angie fell out of the doorway, she was stiff with panic. Peggy watched as she searched, frantic. Angie’s name was jammed in the back of her throat, a thick clot just waiting to slip out. After Angie had looked behind the dumpster and paced the alley a few times, Peggy spilled from the darkness.

“Bloody hell, bloody, pissing hell.” she hissed as her body lurched, tugging at her bruised torso.

“Angie.” she clamped her hand to her ribs. It slipped out as a strangled yelp at first.

The second time was more of a bark.

“Angie.”


	4. Chapter 4

The initial shock of Peggy’s appearance stunned her. Her throat tightened and her back went ridged.

“Peggy?” Taking a few hesitant steps forward, it took Angie no time at all to flick into autopilot. “What the hell?” she wrapped one arm around Peggy’s waist and the other to hold Peggy’s arm over her shoulders. 

“I don’t need help.” Peggy grumbled.

“The hell you don't” Angie snapped, her eyes were hard. The pair swayed back into the diner, Peggy’s feet scuffed the floor, each step drew out a hiss of pain or grunt. 

“I need to use the phone. I need to call someone.” Peggy was measured and cautious, as usual. All desperation had vanished, despite a faint strain in her words. Angie motioned to the booth on their left and slid Peggy into it. Peggy landed ungracefully onto the cushioned bench, her hair fell over her face. Whipping off her apron as she went, Angie collected components to aid the other woman.

“Angie.” Peggy rose to her feet and shuffled sideways to exit when Angie returned from the kitchen with a bowl of hot water and a cloth.

“Sit down now  _Carter_ and let me deal with you.” Angie whipped the cloth in the air and stared her down, mimicking the coolness she received from Peggy so often. If Peggy wasn’t so hurt, Angie was sure she would have gloated that the woman looked slightly threatened. Peggy challenged the glare at first, but shrunk down, with a pout. Angie busied herself dampening a cloth, smothering it in the bowl then wrung it and folded it. All the while her eyes trained on Peggy. 

After serval rinses, Angie made her way over and slid onto the bench and twisted her body to face Peggy.

“What am I gonna do with you?” she tucked a strand of hair behind Peggy’s ear. Peggy shrugged, abashed, her head hung low. “Peggy, I can’t promise that I won’t ask, one day I might, but right now, I don’t care. I don’t care for whatever you’re into.”

Angie tucked her fingers under Peggy’s chin to lift her head and pressed the wet cloth to the florid bruise on her cheekbone. 

Peggy rest her forehead against Angie’s, exhausted. She recalled vowing never to get close to anyone. It’d been a promise to herself, but she had never been good at keeping promises. Peggy hated that she was still soft enough to look at Angie and think of possibilities, even after Steve. With Angie so close, the bitter taste of loneliness faded. She wrapped her fingers with Angie’s in her lap and let out a sigh. Angie’s breathing became uneven, it was quiet, but came out fast. She set her other hand on Peggy’s shoulder, rubbing circles with her thumb. To have Peggy so vulnerable, so soft around her made her lightheaded. Peggy’s reserves were shot.

Moments later, Peggy nudged Angie’s nose with hers, rubbing them together a few times.

“You’re a softie English.” she whispered, she was sure Peggy made a ‘mmhhmm’ before soft lips pressed against hers. Angie let out a small squeak, but leant in despite her surprise. As if by it’s own accord, her hand moved from Peggy’s shoulder, to clasp the back of her neck, then knotted in her hair. The world melted away. Angie consumed by Peggy’s taste, kissed her with more vigour. It was sweet, despite the slight tang of blood. It was a taste Angie was sure she could get drunk on.

Peggy’s wince of pain brought Angie back to earth. They parted roughly and a glimmer of unease settled into Angie’s hot eyes. Peggy shook her head in confusion. It had happened too fast, she could barley take in any feeling beside the pain throbbing in her ribcage and head once they had stopped. 

“Why did- why did we-I didn’t-” Peggy stuttered, agitated. “That was a mistake.” 

Angie pulled herself away instantly and slid from the booth.

“I’ll get you the Mercurochrome.” Angie turned her back to Peggy, her voice was shaky and thick.  

“Angie, please.” 

She wafted her hand in dismissal of Peggy and breezed into the kitchen. Peggy watched in frustration as the doors slapped shut behind the waitress.

Peggy eased herself out of the booth, careful not to make too much noise and dragged herself over to the phone. She punched in Jarvis’s number with haste and slumped against the wall, breathing roughly. He answered with a curt greeting, the Benny Goodman show cracked in the background.

“Jarvis, I need you to pick me up from the Automat and could you please bring some brandy and bandages?” 

He retorted with a quick ‘would you like ice?’ and then after a bout of silence agreed to collect her.

Angie burst from the kitchen, her face was puffy from an obvious episode of crying. Her fake smile became faint, confused then vanished entirely. In it’s place came a hurt and bewildered look. She slammed the bottle of Mercurochrome down onto the counter, it was an act of pride that made her clasp her hand over her mouth as she cursed and let out a sob. Peggy had gone. 

-

Angie came around the corner of the Griffith’s stairwell a few minuets to curfew. Miriam Fry had been on a war path, so it took stealth to sneak in and past her office. Angie had slipped her shoes off and skittered past, nearly slipping as she bolted to the staircase. Now, on her floor, she spotted movement under her door. She halted and set her lips together and advanced to her door with swift quiet strides. She put her hand on the knob, her shoes held in the other. Knowing that her key was useless if someone was already in there, she braced herself. She turned it with care so it neither rattled or clicked. Angie balanced herself on the balls of her feet. As sore as they were from her day, she thought it wouldn’t matter if she was about to face an intruder. She filled her lungs and clicked the door open, and went it. 

Tommy lay on her bed, his breathing was shallow and he had his coat pulled over his body as a blanket. Angie blew the breath out. She was close to laughing, if it wasn’t for the bruises and dried blood on his face. She dropped her shoes by the door and he stirred. He lifted himself up and rubbed his eyes with bruised fingers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” she said, locking her door and racing to his side. 

“Some broad maced me good.” he spoke and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Not that I’d admit that to Pa.” 

“The hell Tommy-” Angie broke off and went to collect a damp cloth to clean him up. She returned with it and pressed it to his cheek, it was dark and swollen. 

“I think I’ve messed up,” he choked and took the compress from her. “Big time.”

“… is that what you meant yesterday… Tommy, have you…got a hit out on you?” Angie kelt by him, with a pale hand on his knee. 

“I might, I dunno.” he grimaced as he dabbed his wounds. The expression transformed into a grim smile. “There ain’t no loyalty. Sure, Pa can preach that bullshit, but I don’t believe it. Take what you can get. I took what I was owed, what I deserved. Sis, I got em good.” 

“Got who? The broad?” 

“No, no. Moretti. Angie, you were there.”

Angie’s chest grew tight and she fell backwards. She caught her hand on the bedpost to steady herself and rose to her feet. 

“What? What are you talking about? I saw Moretti’s obituary in the paper, it was one of those generic ones, sayin’ he died suddenly, not in my diner. You say some queer stuff Tommy, but that’s bull. I wasn’t there,” she had her hand over her chest. “If this is one of your jokes…”

Tommy scoffed. 

“You look jus’ like Ma when you do that.”

“I’ll smack you like she does if you don’t start making sense.” 

“When I came here, yesterday, that’s why I asked how your day was, I thought you woulda been expecting me. You were way too calm, so I reckoned you just… Don’t you remember?” 

Angie paled and frowned deeply.

“I remember you here, Tommy, at night… but I didn’t see you yesterday durin’ the day I don’t think.” she sat next to him, staring at the side of his face with morbid attentiveness.

“I came into the diner, I’d been followin’ the guy and Moretti was sat there. I took the chance. You were with some woman, she didn’t leave like the others when she saw me. She didn’t know who I was though.” he was too sombre, too sincere to be playing one of his games. “You recognised me, but didn’t say anythin’.”  

“Why don’t I remember…” Angie felt her face grow hot, tears pricked her eyes for the second time that night. “Peggy was there?” 

“After I got Moretti, she pulled a gun out on me.”

“No! Tommy stop, nothin’ makes sense,” Angie hissed, she didn’t care if she was too loud, she had a right to be. “I wasn’t there, I woulda remembered something like this!” 

“Not if she did something.”

“Peggy would never-”

“She’s the one who beat me Ang, I  _swear_  to Auntie Maria.” Tommy had washed away most of the blood, he dropped the stained rag into his lap. “Pretty gal though, when she wasn’t swinging for me.” his voice shook. 

Angie was livid, she wrung her hands and stared at the floor absently, trying to picture the scenario the best she could. 

“You think she's out to kill you?” Angie couldn’t find her voice. 

“Sure looked like it. You stopped it. You came outta the diner, lookin’ for her. Angie, who is she?”

Angie put her fingers to her lips then in a hushed voice said. “I’m not sure anymore.”

-

In the following week, Peggy put in hours of canvasing the neighbourhood around the Automat with Jarvis, trying to place the grey suited man. They didn’t have much luck with directly tracking him, either people didn’t know or were reluctant to speak. However the soon got news from a woman, Mrs. Armstrong. She told them she had seen a man prowling outside the Automat for several nights prior to Peggy and the mans encounter. She had seen him the first time about closing time, taking quick glances in but never doing much else. Peggy began to think it was just an admirer of Angie’s, when the woman was quick to mention his attire. With the description confirming it was indeed the man she was looking for, Mrs.Armstrong rambled on with more gusto. She’d seen him again standing on the corner of the opposite street, then mentioned he’d crossed and gone into the alley by the diner. Peggy knew that was probably the night they collided. Mrs. Armstrong had not seen him since. Feeling particularly more successful and notably less bitter. Peggy returned to her headquarters, pleased that this man wasn’t as allusive as they had thought

-

In the bullpen, Thompson flicked through a report absently. Taking large bites out of a sandwich, he didn’t care that the crumbs fell into the file. Sousa paced, as best he could, in front of his desk. 

“Has Carter got back to you with anything?” Thompson said as he crumpled up the wax paper from his sandwich and tossed it at the trashcan. He missed by a mile, but he didn’t fell like getting up. 

“No. I think the reports from the labs could say more.” Sousa retrieved the paper and dropped it neatly into the trashcan. 

“Finally, you’re startin’ to see it too.” Thompson clapped his hands together and Sousa opened his mouth to respond, but shut it quickly.

“See what?” Peggy stood in the doorway, arms folded. She wore her hair down in neat curls and let a pair of sunglasses frame her face, all in an effort to hide her bruises. Some had been difficult to powder over.

“What have you got for us Carter?” Thompson challenged. Peggy strode over dropped a fresh file onto his desk. “Besides a hangover?” 

“A man has been seen in the neighbourhood. He’s been surveying it. I suspect he’s part of another family. Not the Bianchi mob.” Peggy reeled.

“Great. Both of you go through case files and see if you pull anything up.” he pointed between the pair. 

“And what will you do?” Peggy scoffed. Thompson leant back in his chair and prodded at the newest file. 

“Assess.” 

-

The bullpen was illuminated by serval desk lamps, the main lights had been turned off long ago.  The space smelt like the remnants of fast-food and dust. Much to Peggy’s distaste.

Peggy’s eyes itched; she leaned back in her chair and yawned. She remembered when staying up half the night would give her a high. At 1 a.m she knew it was time to stop, but had be captivated by the S.S.R’s log of known Mafia families. Peggy had come across it when she combed through Roxxon Oil’s file. Now, nearing 3 a.m. Sousa was snoring facedown on the desk they occupied. Peggy flipped another page of the file, amazed at the amount of names but lack of knowledge on the families that ruled underbelly of New York. Printed in the same faded block caps a name arrested Peggy’s eyes. Holding the file closer to the light, she leant in. 

_Martinelli._

Peggy’s curiosity was on fire. 

“Sousa.” she swatted his shoulder util he stirred from his slumber with a loud snort. He drew his body up straight and rubbed the drooping lines of sleep from his face. 

“Carter?” he stifled a yawn behind his hand and eyed the paper she thrust in front of him. “Martinelli.” he said and met Peggy’s stern stare with cool wonderment. 

“Are they a prominent family?” Peggy inquired, her face paled as Sousa mulled the question over. 

“I assume so if they’re in our files.”

“There’s not much on them.” Peggy scoured the page and drummed with her fingers on the desk. “Why? D’ya think they are our mystery family?” he asked.

Peggy made a frustrated noise from the back of her throat. She was not satisfied. They had no evidence that it was the Martinelli family, nor did she have any evidence besides a last name that said Angie was part of it. Peggy lit a cigarette for herself and then one for Sousa. She placed it between his lips and he took a long drag. Peggy blew out smoke in a long stream, the pair sat in silence. Peggy’s forehead was creased with thought, then anger. A impromptu visit to Angie was due.


End file.
